


The Smallest Flower

by deduce-my-heart (linds7)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bees, Did I Mention Fluff, Dreams, Emotional, Flowers, Fluff, Fluff with feelings, John is lovely, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Retirementlock, Sussex, bee!john - Freeform, beelock, sherlock is insecure about his age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-10 00:03:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4369493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linds7/pseuds/deduce-my-heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If I was a flower growing wild and free all I’d want is you to be my sweet honeybee."</p><p>Sherlock dreams John is a bumblebee and he is a flower.</p><p>  <a href="http://imgur.com/tueznLJ"></a><br/><img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Smallest Flower

_**Full many a flower is born to blush unseen —Thomas Gray** _

 

Sherlock sometimes dreams that John is a bumblebee, diligently collecting pollen and working away the summer days, completely focused on his task. (His love of bees and of John overlaps as he sleeps.) And in this reoccurring dream, Sherlock is always a small, wild violet with heart shaped leaves who is never noticed by John. Every day, he silently watches John work, admiring his plump body and golden, fuzzy hair from afar as he floats from flower to flower, never staying long at each one. Everything about him is deeply fascinating to Sherlock, from the way his wings flutter to his dangerous looking stinger tucked in close to his body.

Sherlock’s greatest wish is for John to come and visit him. He can’t help but wonder what it would be like if John rested on his body … could he even hold up his weight? He imagines the feel of his soft hair rubbing against his delicate petals. Would he reach in with his long, probing tongue to taste the sweet nectar at his center? Would John caress his face, slowly exploring every part of him while gathering his pollen? (The idea of bits of himself coating John’s hairy body is strangely intoxicating.) If John likes what he finds, would he come back for more?

Sherlock sways in the breeze and ruffles his petals, hoping his fragrant scent and beautiful face will lure John closer. Sometimes it seems as though John has finally noticed him, but then he turns and flies in the other direction. Sherlock tries to stay optimistic, thinking that maybe _this_ will be the day. Each night he curls up within his own mind and contemplates a future with John. As soon as the dawn breaks, he unfurls himself eagerly, straining towards the sky, though it is not the sun’s radiance that he craves. He preens and holds his head high, constantly trying to show himself off to his best advantage. He remains confident that he will eventually capture John’s attention, though he knows he is smaller than most of the other flowers. (The sunflowers eventually gain his eternal hatred, as John visits _them_ regularly.)

Days turn to weeks, until it is approaching the end of summer. Sherlock is tired. He has already lost two of his petals, and his leaves have begun to wilt. With a heavy heart, he finally acknowledges to himself that it is too late. The game is over, his beauty has faded, and he has nothing left to offer. He droops his head down, no longer wanting to be noticed by anyone, least of all by John. There is a chill in the air that matches his heart as he realizes his days are numbered.

The morning he wakes to the first touch of frost, he also finds John perched on the edge of his face, looking at him intently.

“Please go away,” Sherlock tells John immediately. “I have no pollen left and my nectar is dried up. There’s nothing here for you anymore.”

“But you are still here, little violet,” John tells him tenderly. “And you are beautiful, the most beautiful flower I’ve ever seen. I noticed you from the first moment I flew into this meadow, and I have longed for you every day since, but I had to keep working. Lives depend on me you see, and I knew that if I visited you, lovely blossom that you are, I would never leave your side. How could I, when everything I’ve ever wanted is right here, in your heavenly gaze? I worked so hard, never stopping for breaths, thoughts of you driving me ever onward. And now that my work is finished and I am free, I would like to spend the rest of my days with you. If you’ll have me.”

“But why?!” Sherlock is both shocked and incredulous. “You would actually want to spend the rest of your life with me _now_? In case you haven’t noticed, I am diminishing quickly. I may be gone in a week or two. Just go. I am sure there are superior, heartier flowers out there capable of withstanding the cold better than I. You’re wasting your time with me.”

John crawls toward the center of Sherlock’s face, licking and petting as he goes, until he feels the flower start to tremble and is certain he has Sherlock’s full attention.

“I know who it is that I want. And it is you, Sherlock.” John smiles kindly at Sherlock’s stunned expression. “Yes I know your name, I have ears and have been listening to all the whispers and gossip that travel up and down this pasture with great speed. But let me tell you one thing, Sherlock, and you better listen well. There may be countless lilies in the valley, and a myriad number of roses still in bloom. But you, my darling, are unique. You are the fairest one of all, with your droops and missing petals. With all my heart, _I choose you_.”

Sherlock’s heart constricts at John’s sweet words, hardly daring to believe that John would still want him, when he is far past his peak and has so little to offer him. As he is pondering this, John leans forward and gently kisses his face, his little hands and feet rubbing softly against his now blushing skin. As John’s tongue sinks down into his secret place, he gasps at the sudden pleasure coursing through his veins. John chuckles, whispering darkly, “You taste exquisite. I’m going to drink of you all night. And then tomorrow, I’ll do it all over again.”

Sherlock glows and straightens toward the sky once more.

~~~~

Sherlock wakes from his dream with a start. His heart is racing as he gets up and looks out the window toward his hives. His reflection on the glass is that of an aging man with a few wrinkles and streaks of grey in his hair. The familiar thread of insecurity begins to furl and grow in his stomach, his dream reminding him that he is also in the twilight of his life with little left to offer. But before the dark feelings can take hold of him completely, he feels John gently slip his hand in his own, threading their fingers together as he rests his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock turns to him, and their eyes meet. Sherlock is overwhelmed by the depth of love and devotion he sees written there. John looks at him the same way he did when he was young and vigorous, as though he believes he could do anything.

Sherlock doubts the evidence of his eyes.

“John I … are you happy here … with me?”

“Oh god, did you have another bad dream?”

“Well, it wasn’t all good.”

“Tell me.”

“John, you were a bumblebee and you wouldn’t notice me no matter what I did. I was a flower, by the way.”

John giggles. “Sherlock, that sounds like a cute dream.”

Sherlock huffs in irritation. “No but listen, winter was approaching, and I was fading fast. And it was only then that you came to be with me, when our time was so short, and I was a mere shadow of what I once was. I couldn’t believe it in my dream, why you would want to be with me at that point, and …”

“Oh Sherlock, it was only a dream. You are not a fading flower!”

“I still have trouble accepting it, John. Even though I am awake now, I don’t understand.”

“Sherlock … we aren’t talking about your dream anymore are we.”

Sherlock takes a deep breath before continuing. “For years I waited and ached for you silently, and not once did you come to me. I tried so hard to impress you or tantalize you with my body while we still lived at Baker Street. (Why else would I walk around in the flat in only a sheet?) But it didn’t do any good. You were always out of my reach, and if you didn’t want me in my prime, when I could still provide an exciting life for you, full of challenges, why would you want me now? It doesn’t make any _sense_.” Sherlock ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

“Sherlock. _Sherlock_ , look at me.”

John cups Sherlock’s face between his rough hands and gazes into Sherlock’s eyes as tears begin to fall down his weathered cheeks.

“Love, I’ve always wanted you. From the very beginning! Don’t you ever think otherwise.” John takes a deep breath. “I am so, _so_ sorry, for all the years wasted because I was too stupid to see what was right in front of me. Please…”

John’s voice catches in his throat and he looks down to try and regain enough composure to speak again. That composure never comes, so John continues brokenly in a whisper.

“Would that I could turn back time, I would run into your arms that first night and make desperate love to you. God Sherlock, don’t you know? I’ve always loved you. Always.” John throws his arms around Sherlock tightly and starts kissing Sherlock all over his face and neck, licking up their mingling tears. “I had no idea you felt the same until I discovered your private notes last year. _Last year_! Thank god for happy accidents.” John stops and gazes deeply into Sherlock’s eyes.

“But don’t you see, our best years are ahead of us! We have the rest of our lives to make up for all that lost time. Now that you’re retired, I have your full attention. Well, I share it with the bees, but I try not to get too jealous…” Sherlock smiles at this, prompting John to lean in and kiss him deeply, his searching tongue tangling with his own. It is several moments before John can continue.

“There is nowhere else I’d rather be, love. No one else I would rather spend my days with. There is only you. Please don’t think you are less just because you are older. Banish the thought! You have not diminished in any capacity of the word. With each year that goes by, and each new grey hair you find and immediately complain to me about, you only grow more amazing, more beautiful in my eyes. Every day is an adventure with you. Yes, still! Don’t give me that look! I never know what you are going to do or say, or what mischief you’ll get into with those damn experiments. We may not be chasing criminals or putting our life in danger daily, but there are thrills that we experience now, little deaths we both succumb to in the heat of night, which I would not trade for the world.”

Sherlock feels arousal start to pool in his belly at the heat in John’s words and the darkness of his gaze. He can no longer doubt the truth of what John is saying, not when there are still tears glistening in those blue eyes. To think that this man still feels amazed by him, still awed … he cannot think how he deserves this. He clings to John, desperate to feel him against his skin, to feel assured through his touch as well as words. John must sense this, because he leads Sherlock back to their bed and lays him down.

Sherlock lies there watching as John unhurriedly takes his clothes off. He thinks of his dream, of how he longed for John to pollinate him. He tries to suppress a giggle at the thought of John with little antennas sticking out of his greying hair. John is much hairier than he is, so he doesn’t have to imagine how it might feel to cuddle with a fuzzy bee John. The thought is delightful and it shows on his face, and John looks at him with curious amusement in his eyes.

“Sherlock, what are you giggling about? You know, it doesn’t do my ego much good if you’re only amused while I’m in the process of getting naked.”

“Sorry John … I assure you I am much more than amused.” Yet Sherlock giggles harder as John leans down and kisses his nose and helps him undress as well. “I’m just imagining you as you were in my dream… as a bumblebee.”

John’s eyes widen theatrically and he nips at Sherlock’s neck. “Ohhh, I see. And do you want me to sting you?”

Sherlock laughs again, but it is cut off by a moan as John begins to explore his body with his tongue and teeth, apparently not waiting for a response. This tender, intimate act never grows old, and Sherlock is made breathless by John’s hands and mouth, by the gentle slide of warm skin on his own. The noises they make are soft, muted. This is not a frenzied coupling, they take their time. They have all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! :D
> 
> I'm also on tumblr! [deduce-my-heart](http://deduce-my-heart.tumblr.com/)


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